Change of Stripes
by ShazzyZhang
Summary: Pre-Walking Dead. Merle returns home to find his little brother in dire straits. Maybe, Merle can save his brother and change both their fates. T for cussin' and suggested violence against 14 year old Daryl.
1. Chapter 1

_AN: First of, I don't own Walking Dead or it's affiliates._

_Second, I met Michael Rooker in person. I may just have a new favourite Dixon brother. Not gonna lie, I swooned a bit. And he called me "darlin'". Super giddy. But writing evil Merle doesn't inspire me so much... so what if..._

_-Shazzy_

**Change of Stripes**

"_It's jus' you an' me now, little brother. Ain't no one gonna take that away."_

The truck engine roared comfortably as the brothers sped down the highway. They'd been driving for hours. They were lucky though, it was well after midnight and there was no one on the roads.

Daryl sat miserably in the passenger seat, eyes glazed over as the codeine he'd taken to numb the pain of his broken arm worked it's magic. Merle had been talking for hours. Cussing and spitting words like acid. Life hadn't been terribly kind to the Dixon brothers, but they did what they could to make it work.

Behind the codeine high, Daryl was a bundle of nerves. He was just a kid, fourteen years old to the day, and he wasn't used to the kindness his brother had shown him.

Merle had been gone for the past eight months. Where, Daryl didn't ask. He'd left his brother at home with their brute of a father without so much as a word. Daryl had tried to be good, going to school, fixing the house, doing the chores, staying out of trouble with well, everyone. Just to keep his father placated in Merle's absence.

It hadn't worked.

Daryl winced at the thought of the beatings, savage and merciless, that he's suffered at his father's hand. The broken arm had been the most recent. It had happened the day before Merle had gotten home. Their father had been pushed into a drunken rage for some reason or another – Daryl wasn't even sure what he'd done to set him off anymore – and had pulled a weapon on him. The closest thing that he'd been able to grab...

Daryl didn't even want to think about it. The crack, the pain, he'd have been hit in the head if he'd been half a second slower in raising his arm to protect himself. The crack of his bone seemed to snap his father partially out of it, and he'd managed to get away. He'd spent the night hiding outside and trying not to cry. _Dixons never cry_.

Merle had returned the next morning. He found Daryl in the yard, sneaking back into the house when their father was supposed to be at work. His arm was discoloured and swollen and the bruises on Daryl's face and the split lip and eyebrow was all Merle needed. He took his brother to the hospital first, paying in cash for them to set his arm and fix him up. He told them not to let Daryl leave until he came back.

Daryl was stuck in the hospital all day. Merle came back without a word and loaded his brother into his crappy truck. The back seat was full of camping gear and rucksacks with their meagre belongings, Merle's motorcycle was strapped firmly in the bed of the truck.

"What happened?" Daryl asked after a long moment.

"Nothin' you need t' worry about, Daryl." Merle assured him. "Jus' try an' sleep."

And there they were. Driving along the deserted highway in the middle of the night.

"What happened back at home?" Daryl asked finally, his lips feeling strange from the numbing effect of the codeine. "What'd you do?"

"Nuthin'." Merle said gruffly. "Ain't yer concern anyway."

Daryl stared at his brother. "Did you kill Dad?"

Merle slammed on the brakes and whirled on Daryl. "What did you say?"

"I asked if you killed Dad." Daryl said meekly. His brother was 10 years his senior, and he loved him to death, but Merle was scary as hell when he was mad and Daryl, with his broken arm and stoned on Codeine, wouldn't be able to fight back.

"No." Merle said after a lone moment. "No I did not." He frowned. "Although I would have if I had another chance." He stared at his brother. "We're okay now. We ain't NEVER goin' back there."

Daryl nodded slowly. "So where _are_ we going?"

Merle shrugged. "Atlanta?"

Daryl grimaced. "Do we have to?"

Merle shrugged again, a dismissive gesture. "More work in a big city, might not be such a bad idea."

Daryl nodded and grew very quiet. There was no point in arguing with Merle. He stared at the plaster cast on his arm and wondered exactly what his brother had done.

"Hey, Daryl."

Daryl looked up at his brother.

"Everything's gon' be a'right, I promise. I ain't leavin' you for nothin' y' got it?"

A small smile touched the corner of Daryl's mouth and he nodded in reply.

Merle smiled back. It was a rare sight, but it was a genuine gesture. He stepped on the gas, making the truck rumble it's throaty little roar, and they were off again.

Daryl stared out the window as they drove in silence. His fourteen-year-old brain was buzzing, racing with thoughts, and worries.

He was worried about where they were going, but he knew that as long as Merle was there, they'd be all right.

The were Dixons, after all. And Dixons were too tough to die without a fight.


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: I didn't think you'd all like this as much as you did. Wow. I'm sincerely blown away by the positive feedback. Thanks, guys!_

_So I'll attempt to continue... We'll see._

_Love,_

_Shazzy_

**-Homeward-**

From the night that Merle had stolen them away, neither of the Dixon boys had ever looked back. It felt like life was just starting over. It was just the two of them, no one else, no one to answer to. It was blissful, almost heaven, if you could believe in such a thing.

They'd settled just on the edge of the city. A small, run down trailer was all they could afford. At least there was a school nearby. The location wasn't the most desirable, but it was close enough to the city that Merle would have no trouble finding a job nearby, and it was on the edge of town enough that Daryl wouldn't feel suffocated.

The boys weren't made for city living. The Dixons were a feral clan by nature.

Merle did his damnedest to keep food on the table and he insisted that Daryl finish school. According to Merle, at least one of them oughta get their high school diploma.

Daryl didn't like it, he hated to see that his brother was putting life on hold to provide for him. He was just a kid, and he knew it, but there were plenty of ways that he could make himself useful. Merle wasn't having it. He forced Daryl to do better in school than he'd done under their father's roof. He made sure that his kid brother was in attendance whenever he could. He did his best to provide what their asshole father had neglected.

Daryl was afraid that Merle was going to resent him.

Merle was scared that he wasn't doing _enough_.

Weekends and holidays were spent camping. It was the only time that they could get away from the stench of the city and the noise of their neighbours. Merle taught Daryl everything about roughing it in the wild. He taught his younger brother how to hunt, how to clean their game, how to tan the hides. He taught him which berries and mushrooms were actually edible, and how to tell the difference. He pointed out poison oak and poison ivy and laughed when Daryl had missed it and broke out in hives.

Life was good, more or less.

Merle was worried though. His brother hadn't been quite the same since he'd stolen him away from their abusive father. The spark of childhood had left Daryl. Merle could see it. It was in his brother's mannerisms, it was in his attitude. When the cast had come off his brother's arm, it was as if it had peeled away the innocence of a fourteen-year-old boy and had left the dark scars of a broken man.

It wasn't fair, and Merle hated it.

Daryl didn't realize that he'd been changing. He did everything that Merle asked. He worked his ass off in school to keep his grades above C. (Sometimes it worked, other times, not so much.) He didn't fight with the other kids, as much as he hated the bullshit, he'd promised not to fight. He suffered silently when they called him a pussy, and a hillbilly, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists, but never taking the boot to the entitled pricks. Not even homosexual slurs could rile him up – he'd made a promise and he'd be damned if he'd break it.

But the darkness was there. The meanness. The broken, battered anger. He was like a wolf in a cage, ready to snap at a moment's notice. And only Merle could see it.

It wasn't intentional, but Merle began to drink heavily. There was only so much he could do and the pressure of Daryl's sudden disinterest in everything took a harsher toll on him than he'd intended. He brooded silently, drunk on the porch or would take off on his motorcycle for day trips while Daryl did his homework on the weekends.

But Merle always came back. He always made sure that Daryl had food, clothes, a home.

Daryl didn't say anything until he was sixteen.

"I'm gettin' a job." He announced while he helped Merle fix the truck one day.

"Really?" Merle drawled. They were both covered in engine grease and oil and Merle had had a few beers already.

"Yeah." Daryl said. "There's no point in you continuin' to kill yerself just so I can go to school with a bunch of pussies and dickheads." He shrugged. "Ain't like I'm gettin' to go ta' Harvard or nothin' anyway."

Merle stopped what he was doing and stared at his brother. It had been two years since they'd fled their father's house. Daryl had grown like a weed. He was five foot eleven and almost as muscular as Merle himself. Daryl's hair was always long and unkempt, a rebellious teenage thing that Merle recognized from his younger days. Merle ran his hand through his close-cropped hair.

"Jus' cuz you ain't going to Harvard doesn't mean you can jus' quit school." He slurred.

"What's the point though?" Daryl asked. "I mean, really? You didn't finish high school. There's not a lick of sense in me bothering neither. I can work just as well as you. Maybe make us some extra cash, get us the hell outta here..."

Merle dropped the wrench he'd forgotten he was holding. He felt a sudden bubbling anger rising in him. "You listen here, Daryl." He snarled, restraining himself enough to not lay a hand on his younger brother. "You're gon' finish school whether you like it or not. I ain't sufferin' any more of yer bullshit. You finish school goddammit. You're better than that."

Daryl blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected anger, and especially not the dark anger that their father used to display, coming from Merle. Daryl grew very quiet, momentarily afraid that he'd have to defend himself from his brother.

"I just thought I could help." Daryl said miserably.

Merle snorted and shook his head.

"Merle, I mean... This sucks, an' there's no way in hell you're happy, right?" Daryl pressed. "I'm sixteen now, I'm old enough t' get a job. I'll work on a factory line, in a garage, anything, I just... I hate it here."

"No." Merle said finally. "No, you'll damn well finish high school." He growled. "We're fine for now. You finish high school and be better'n me. You'll get a job when you're done school."

"You can't stop me." Daryl challenged.

Merle snapped. He grabbed Daryl by the front of the shirt. "You wanna run that by me again, punk?"

Daryl grimaced, flinching as his brother pulled him closer. He hadn't seen the violence in Merle and he was suddenly afraid of his brother.

Daryl's silence seemed to snap Merle out of whatever had possessed him. He let go of Daryl's shirt, shaking. "Oh God." He mumbled. "Shit, I'm sorry..."

"Yeah, whatever." Daryl mumbled. He rushed away, shaking with anger.

Merle leaned against the open hood of his truck. What had happened? He'd let the darkness and the shade of his father get to him. He was ashamed, there was no two ways about it. He looked at the half full bottle of beer on the hood of his truck. He grabbed it and threw it across the yard.

"Fuck!" He called to no one in particular. He sunk down onto his haunches and buried his face in his hands.

Maybe, Merle needed to worry about himself for a moment.


	3. Chapter 3

_AN: I dunno how much of this I can do before Merle starts turning evil again... is that what you wanna see, dear readers? Merle's transformation from the doting brother I imagined into the racist redneck we all love to hate? Lemme know._

_-Shazzy_

**-Brotherhood-**

Daryl didn't listen. He went out in a fit of defiance and anger and got himself a job. He was working in a garage, and for the first little while, he continued to go to school, but it wasn't for long.

The first phone call came when Merle was at his own job. He was pulled off the floor to take the call.

"Your brother is in serious trouble."

Merle had lost a half day's worth of work to go and retrieve his brother from the school.

Daryl had been in a fight, they explained. He was provoked by the football team, and he finally snapped. It was a three-against-one fight, and Daryl _still_ managed to come out on top. Deep down, Merle had to admit that he was impressed with his kid brother, but it wouldn't do them any good.

Merle apologized and took Daryl home.

"A three-day suspension." Merle spat as he drove them home.

"Totally worth it." Daryl snarled.

Merle looked his brother over. He was sporting a black eye and a split lip. His knuckles were torn and bleeding slightly on his left hand. Daryl h ad gotten worse injuries from the beatings their father had given him, but this time it was different.

"Three against one, though." Daryl added. "And I kicked their asses."

"Why?" Merle asked, defeated. "Why'd you have to go fight them?"

Daryl shrugged. "They insulted me."

"That's it?"

"Is there anything more to fight for?" Daryl deadpanned.

Merle frowned. "Honour, I guess?"

"What do Dixons know about _honour_?"

Merle fell very quiet at that sentiment. Daryl had a point. Their family wasn't known for being the most honourable of men.

"I'm losing half a day's work thanks to you." Merle said, changing the subject.

"It's okay." Daryl said. "I'm not in school for three days, I'll jus' work a couple extra shifts to make up for it."

"I can't leave you alone." Merle replied.

"I ain't gonna fight anyone else." Daryl promised. "Just those pussies in their school uniforms."

Merle sighed. "Why? Why are you so fucking dead inside, Daryl?" He asked, raising his voice in annoyance. "What's so goddamn bad about your life right now that you have to resort to fighting and gettin' suspended from school?"

"What's so good in my life that I oughta follow the rules?" Daryl shot back, matching Merle's tone. "I mean, Christ, Merle. We live in a goddamn trailer park outside a' Atlanta. You work a shit job in a shit factory an' I fix rich people's cars for minimum wage. Y' think goin' ta school is gonna change that for us? Ha!" Daryl snarled and folded his arms across his chest in teenage defiance. "Better that we just take our chances workin' and maybe, if we're lucky, we can afford to get out of this shithole before we die!"

Merle grew very quiet. He hated the fact that Daryl had a point.

"I ain't goin' back to school." Daryl said matter-of-factly. "I ain't goin' back to that."

"Yes you are." Merle said firmly.

"You'll be gettin' phone calls every day then." Daryl warned. "Losin' more work. And then what? We lose the house? Lose the truck? Lose your precious motorcycle?" Daryl snorted a laugh. "You won't give that shit up, you'd rather run away, leave me here to rot than lose your precious freedom."

"You call this freedom?" Merle asked.

"You don't have to take care of me." Daryl said disgustedly. "I'm seventeen, Merle. I'm a goddamn adult."

"You can't drink, legally. You can't buy a pack of smokes, legally. You can't vote. I don't think you're an adult, Daryl." Merle shot back. "I think you're a scared kid who ain't got the balls to make it on 'is own, so you hide behind this bullshit facade and fight with the kids at school."

"What's your _problem_ Merle?" Daryl shouted. "You ain't dad! You don't gotta look after me. I dunno why you keep pushin' me to go to school. I ain't gonna finish it anyway, I'm failin' classes. You just..." Daryl trailed off. "I wanna... No, I _need_ t' get outta here, Merle. I can't keep it up. I'm gonna die."

Merle didn't say anything back.

Daryl had made his point.


	4. Chapter 4

_AN: I dunno what else I can do with this. I... I didn't intend for this to be an origin story, go figure. Anyway, thanks for waiting._

_-Shazzy_

**-Change of Stripes-**

It had been nearly ten years since they'd run away from their father and started over, just the two of them. The brothers had somehow managed to carve out a place for themselves, tooth and nail. It wasn't always a bed of roses, though. Two broken young men trying to make a life for themselves? Blood was shed and fists were thrown, but in the end, they always had each other.

He'd found himself driven further and further into the bottle, and when that wasn't enough, he found other ways to ease the hate and rage and pain he felt every time things went even slightly south. He watched the world go by through bleary, bloodshot eyes. He'd fallen out of love with being the doting older brother as Daryl pushed him further away, chasing his own violent desires.

Merle found himself in trouble more and more often, disappearing on his brother for longer and longer stretches of time.

The worst was when he'd find himself in prison for various reasons.

But he always called Daryl, and Daryl always came to check on him.

Now, however, he found himself too messed up to even get back on his bike and run away. His head swam with drink and drugs and his limbs felt like lead. He wondered, vaguely, if this was how he was going to die – drunk and high and alone.

No, he decided. He wasn't going to die, not like this. He'd live on until the world ended. He was a Dixon after all.

Merle groaned to himself, unable to get up, unable to move, barely able to think. Everything hurt, everything was bleak and he was so goddamn _tired_.

Movement.

Merle squeezed his eyes shut, willing the motion away.

A rustle of fabric and the sound of footsteps getting closer.

"Go away..." Merle begged weakly, wanting nothing more than to just ride out his high and his daze in peace.

"No such luck, big brother." Daryl said quietly as he crouched by Merle's bed.

The house was a mess, it almost always was these days. Daryl was never home, and Merle didn't care. Now, though, Daryl was home long enough to find his brother at his weakest.

"What'd you take?" Daryl asked, eyeing the prescription bottles scattered about the bedside table and floor.

"None a' yer business." Merle replied.

"Like hell it ain't." Daryl sneered back. "You wanna die, Merle? Issat it?"

Merle groaned again and tried to roll over, to little luck. He managed instead to place his arm over his eyes. "Go away."

"I ain't leavin' you." Daryl said, picking up the bottles and looking at each one. "You've never left me, no matter how shitty things have gotten, and I ain't about t' leave you." He frowned to himself, feeling so out of his depth and lost as he watched his brother slowly destroy himself.

Merle chuckled mirthlessly from his spot on the bed. "No, you won't will you?" He drawled. "You're too much of a pussy t' leave ol' Merle here. You _need_ me, doncha, Daryl? No way you'll make it on yer own without yer big brother there t' fight off the things that go bump in th' night."

"Shut up." Daryl demanded angrily. "Seriously, Merle, just shut up for one goddamn minute and try not to swallow your own tongue."

Merle laughed again.

A long moment of silence passed between the brothers.

"Thank you." Merle said quietly.

Daryl patted his brother's arm in response.

The two Dixon boys would always have each other. No matter what.


	5. Chapter 5

_AN: Finally figured out the ending for this one. Yay! I'm not gonna lie, I'm disappointed with the way Merle has been treated in Season 3. I sincerely hope that he doesn't die because there's SO MUCH POTENTIAL with him, and it's being squandered. Okay, anyway, enjoy._

_-Shazzy_

**-Hell in a Handbasket-**

The first reports that came through the old radio didn't make any sense. Violent attacks on people in the core of Atlanta. Reports of cannibalism in Savannah. Panic, devastation. Hospitals were filling up faster than anyone could imagine and the casualties were piling up quicker than clean up crews could keep up with.

"They're calling in the military." Daryl drawled as he packed his few belongings into his rucksack.

"We'll be long gone before the tanks show up, little brother." Merle replied casually, checking his guns nonchalantly.

Daryl watched his brother warily. He knew Merle would never shoot him; not even in his worst frame of mind had Merle ever used a weapon against him. Fists and boots, sure, but that was normal for them. Merle would never seriously injure his brother. Still, Daryl couldn't help but feel a tug of uncertainty as he watched Merle load his handgun.

"They say that there's dead people up and walking about." Daryl continued roughly, hiding the fear he felt behind skepticism.

"Dead people don't get up an' walk around, Daryl." Merle shoot back, tucking his handgun into his belt. "These people are sick and the government is overreacting."

"But what if it's true?"

Both brothers stopped as a new report started to filter through the air.

_Hospitals are now red zones. Stay in your homes. Do not engage the infected. Do not leave your home. Do not panic. If you suspect someone you know is infected, quarantine them in a separate room until help can arrive. Do not engage the infected. _

Merle turned the radio off and stared at his brother.

Daryl stared back.

Fear was evident behind the blue eyes, but neither brother would admit to it.

"We'll be okay, little brother, jus' you an' me." Merle said, a halfhearted attempt to reassure them both. "We were built for living it rough, right?"

Daryl nodded, less confident than he felt.

"Got everything?" Merle asked.

Daryl nodded again. "I think so."

Merle smiled. "Good. Let's go."

Merle led the way out of their ramshackle little trailer and into the scorching mid-afternoon light. Screams and the smell of smoke filled the air. The little neighbourhood that the Dixons had called home for years was filled with panic and terror.

"Jesus Christ..." Merle hissed.

The reports had been right, there were dead people walking around. The little trailer park had been undefended and one infected person up the road spelled disaster for the entire community.

The brothers exchanged horrified looks.

"Get in the fucking truck." Merle demanded.

Daryl nodded and Merle handed over his own rucksack as he drew his handgun. A tense moment passed as Merle sized up exactly what he was going to do. So far, no one had noticed the Dixon boys.

_Ain't that always the way of it? No one notices us Dixons until it's too goddamn late._ Merle thought bitterly.

He shot another look at Daryl and nodded. "I got your back, little brother."

That was all the signal Daryl needed. He made a dash across the small lawn, heading for the relative safety of the truck. Merle followed, making a beeline for the driver's seat.

"Shit!"

Merle was a few steps behind and his brother's cry filled him with dread. There were shambling corpses against the fence by the truck, neither of the brothers had seen it and they were pushing against the rotting wood, mere inches away from Daryl.

The gunshot echoed across the trailer park.

Merle was a good shot, when he was sober, and the bullet hit it's mark. Grey matter and thick black blood spattered onto the pavement as the walker fell over, only to be crushed by its companion sin their unending attempt to claw at Daryl.

"Get in the truck!" Merle screamed as he fired again and again, spattering gore with his shots.

Daryl didn't need to be asked a second time. He clambered into the familiar truck and slammed the door.

Merle climbed into the driver's seat and gunned the engine. The familiar throaty roar filled the air as more of the dead things appeared, drawn to the noise and the smell of blood.

"Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit..." Daryl breathed as Merle's eyes lit up an a malicious delight that he'd seen all too often. Merle slammed on the gas pedal and the nigh on indestructible truck tore through the rotten fence and onto the main road.

"Merle!" Daryl shouted over the growling engine as his brother sped up, heading right for the group of walkers that blocked the way.

Merle laughed and whooped as the truck bowled over the walkers, spattering gore and breaking bones as it trundled on.

Daryl felt his stomach turn as Merle drove on. He dared not say anything, he'd seen the glint of malice and insanity in his brother's eye before. He stared blankly out the front window as Merle drove on, mindless of the horrors unfolding around them.

They drove without stopping.

Daryl sat mutely in the passenger seat, watching the world fly by in bits of gore and horror. He watched as the infected tore apart the living. He watched and children ran screaming from their parents. He watched as cops tried desperately to rein in the infected. And Merle simply drove.

Merle knew all the back roads, all the shortcuts and they made good time getting to the edge of the city.

They didn't stop until the city lay behind them.

They didn't stop until the road was too blocked for them to go any further.

Merle parked at the edge of the road. He reached over and grabbed Daryl's arm, pulling his brother over. He pulled Daryl's arm out, stretching it out. He pushed the fabric of Daryl's shirt away from his neck, checking the soft flesh there. He checked his other arm, his shoulders, his hands. Merle grabbed Daryl's face and held it, forcing Daryl to stare at him as his pale eyes checked his younger brother, looking for something that Merle didn't disclose.

When he was satisfied Merle shoved Daryl away and got out of the truck. He checked his motorcycle in the truck's bed, making sure nothing had damaged it. Daryl got shakily out of the truck and stumbled into the small ditch next to the road.

Merle didn't say anything as he heard Daryl throwing up. Instead, he reached into the back of the truck and produced a beer from the cooler he kept constantly stocked, waiting for Daryl to come back to the vehicle. He handed the cold drink over.

Daryl eyed the alcohol in distaste.

"Just drink it, ya pussy." Merle said, more amiably than aggressively. "Slow, it'll settle your guts."

Daryl huffed a sigh and did as his brother said, sipping on the crappy beer. "What the hell was that?" Daryl asked after a long moment.

"Ain't got a clue." Merle admitted. He looked Daryl over.

"Quit lookin' at me like that." Daryl grumbled uncomfortably.

"Had to make sure you ain't infected, little brother." Merle said slowly.

Daryl gulped, he hadn't realized that his brother had actually _cared_. He hadn't realized that the almost-assault in the truck a few moments ago had been Merle's way of making sure that he was all right.

"Thank you." Daryl mumbled.

Merle nodded as the sound of helicopters filled the air.

The Dixon brothers looked at each other and moved away from the truck, attempting to get a better view in the dark. The helicopters flew overhead and towards the city they'd just left behind.

"What d'you suppose they're doing?" Daryl asked.

Merle didn't need to answer as the brothers watched in mute terror as napalm poured over the city. The beer dropped from Daryl's hand as they stared as the assault on the city continued, lighting up the night sky in fiery waves.

Daryl barely registered the change in pressure on his shoulder and Merle's hand rested against it.

"It's jus' you an' me, now, little brother." Merle said quietly into the night. "Ain't nobody gonna take that away."


End file.
